Twenty years ago...
The aging yellow beam of his rusted flashlight found the little girl's body. She lay in the ditch near the tree line like an abandoned doll, naked except for the orange socks on her tiny feet. Her skin was as white and smooth as freshly poured milk—marred by the dirt and blood streaking her stomach and legs. Her dark hair was ratty and dull like she'd never brushed it in her whole life. Her brown eyes stared at the night sky, but he knew she didn't see no more.
She weren't no doll. She weren't no girl, neither.
She was a baby angel. And her soul had gone up to heaven. All that remained was this fragile, damaged shell.
Mama wouldn't like him bringing home a broken angel. She didn't want him leaving the house at all on account of his mind sickness. You're not right in the head, boy. That no-good father of yours threw you down the stairs and broke your brain.
